


Not A Gadget

by FyrMaiden



Category: Glee
Genre: Artificial Intelligence, Emotional Processing, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 09:30:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6418108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FyrMaiden/pseuds/FyrMaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is concerned that Blaine is stuck in his emotions, and that maybe his processors need rebooting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not A Gadget

**Author's Note:**

> When developers of digital technologies design a program that requires you to interact with a computer as if it were a person, they ask you to accept in some corner of your brain that you might also be conceived of as a program.  
> ~ JARON LANIER, You Are Not a Gadget: A Manifesto

Blaine scowls and folds his arms across his chest, stares silently at the wall as Sam checks the locks on the doors and then pulls a long, thick black cable from the side pocket of his rucksack.

“Can you swing your chair around for me?” He asks, and waits for Blaine’s systems to register the request before asking again. “Blaine, we need to find out what’s causing these mood fluctuations. Can you please turn your chair around so we can plug you in?”

Blaine huffs a sigh but turns his chair around all the same, undoing his bow tie as he levels his stare a different wall.

“There’s nothing wrong with my system,” he says, but flinches when Sam’s fingers ghost over his access panel all the same. He turns his head to look at Sam, who smiles benignly.

“Sure,” he says gently, and reaches to press the switch beneath Blaine’s chin. “How about you rest while we get you hooked up anyway, hey?”

Blaine wants to argue, but his power cells shut down before he form the first word.

*

Blaine wakes up with the same argument in his mouth that he went to sleep with. Sam has packed the wires away, and the access point in the back of his neck is sealed closed again.

“There’s nothing wrong with my system,” he says quietly, and Sam looks round from where he is unlocking the doors again.

“No,” he says, “There’s not. So it makes your behaviour weirder than ever.”

“We were programmed to blend,” Blaine says reasonably. “We are supposed to emulate your emotions.”

“Exactly,” Sam replies, bringing Blaine’s satchel and jacket to him, and then taking a seat beside him. “You’re supposed to emulate them. You’re supposed to be able to turn the sadness off, yeah? You’re not supposed to be stuck in them like this.”

Blaine is quiet for a minute, the warm brown of his eyes an almost irridescent swirl as he computes and thinks. HIs head tilts, birdlike and serious.

“What would be the point of emotions if you could turn them off?”

Sam is quiet this time. He doesn’t know the answer.

*

Blaine says, “I’m not going to apologise for this. Not anymore.”

They’re standing in line at the Lima Bean. Blaine’s circuitry can’t take the actuality of coffee, but he’s decided he enjoys the flavour. Between them, they have come up with a rigged system which enables him to drink small amounts without it soaking through the thin membranes of his neck and frying the connectors around his core. It’s little more than a sponge, but it means Blaine can drink the coffee he enjoys. It means he passes a little more.

“For what?” Sam asks. Blaine has a tendency to start conversations in the middle. Sam thinks it’s probably a by-product of the way his brain processes information. He’s certain that Blaine doesn’t do it on purpose.

The large golden orbs of Blaine’s eyes - perhaps the most and, simultaneously, least human thing about him - turn to stare at him. Sam takes a step back. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that Blaine is a machine. Today, with his eyes sharp and hard and his movements precise and calculated, it’s hard to forget that he’s not human.

“For my feelings,” he says. “I have been trying to turn off this feeling of guilt, but I can’t turn off the guilt without also turning off my capacity for empathy.”

Sam nods and they take their turn at the register. Blaine asks for his usual - a plain drip - and then they move to wait for their drinks. Blaine takes his small paper cup in his hand gently, and carries it to a table. Sam joins him, laden with sugar and a stirrer, and says, “So you’ve decided to keep the guilt as well?”

Blaine stares at his cup and hums low in his throat. Sam knows it’s the sound of his processors, but it’s a comforting noise all the same. When Blaine looks up, he seems certain and resolute.

“I was designed to help, to be accessible, for people to be able to talk to, to share their worries and concerns with,” he says. “I would not be a serviceable unit if I was unable to understand their guilts and worries. So yes. I’m keeping the guilt.”

Sam nods and stirs his coffee, and wonders how long they have before they need to change Blaine’s filters and reboot him again. For today, though, they’ll keep him as he is, because who and what he is is pretty amazing, really.


End file.
